


Trick or Tr(eat Me Out)

by persesphone



Series: Spider-Man: College AU [5]
Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Future Fic, Halloween, Halloween Challenge, Halloween Costumes, Mild Smut, Panty Kink, PeterMJ - Freeform, Peterchelle, Prompt Fill, Short Fic Prompt Fill, Spideychelle, college party
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-27 17:56:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12587432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/persesphone/pseuds/persesphone
Summary: Prompt:Michelle steals Peter's spidey suit for a party and he gets seriously turned on becausehello tight suit. They sneak away somewhere and he tries to top but of course, MJ cant have that tonight and webs Peter up.





	Trick or Tr(eat Me Out)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the festivity of the holiday, I thought to post this from tumblr to AO3 as well. Let me know if this is good or bad. If you want a sequel, let me know in the comments.
> 
> This hasn't been edited, just fyi

So like—

Sue him.

Quite frankly, Michelle Jones probably doesn’t know that her Halloween outfit has two other department store twins walking around, and Peter thinks it’s quite fucking amusing that a leg on their back spider emblem is peeling off because she insisted on saving money for decorations, and as he nurses the red Solo cup; he’s still on his first serving. He also questions himself on what compelled him to agree to this—on why Michelle is wearing his high tech, million-dollar _authentic_ Spider-Man suit (though devoid of the mask, her hair tied up in a bun with a glittery spider scrunchie) and he’s wearing a fucking Thor t-shirt bought from like, JCPenny or somewhere; on why he can’t help but notice how firm fitting his suit automatically accommodates, not a wrinkle across her waist or chest, and accentuating, _teasing_ curve of her—

So, her ass looks damn good and _enticing_ in his suit, sue him.

Similarly, he can’t question himself on _why_ is gaze can’t help to drift down to his waist compartments, as she spins, hops to the bumping bass of the music. The firm fit has had him side- tracked and _distracted_ and taking gulps from his cup all night. similarly, he can’t really stop himself when he notices a hunk in a decked out werewolf costume starts getting a _little too_ handsy for Peter’s liking, and shoving between them, and pulling Michelle from the dance floor off to the side against a wall. The first thing he does is kiss her—not quite soft, a clear underlining to the slide of his tongue. It quickly becomes explicit.

The lights are very dim, alternating between violet, insipid gold, and green. Deep shadows dance around her face as she laughs, asking if he had been _jealous_ , and noting the possessive grip on her waist; deep shadows play across her face as he leans near her ear and confirms, grip tightening. His face disappears into her neck as his palms slide below her belt line, grabs her ass, nibbles at her exposed skin of her neck; he asks if she wants to go find a room. And Michelle is partially convinced that this is all for show—that Peter is glaring at the Werewolf around her shoulders, or vise versa—but she’s then made to focus on his mouth and the words spoken that he  _knows_ always works, and then she’s being drawn against him and—

And, that’s how they end up in an unnamed bedroom, the suit now a pool at the end of the bed post, and Michelle’s giving sighs and moans, her legs around his waist and her arms tightening around his neck, pulling him in as she bites his lower lip, her ankles knotting around him, and his grip tightens around the sheets and her matching lingerie set rubs against his him as she arches as he bucks against her again. Peter’s nose finds its way into the crook of her neck as he bites then whispers dirty, filthy things to her—that maybe she shouldn’t have worn the suit, that he caught the way she had been teasing and biting her lip the entire night, that he’s wondering if can be louder than the music, if he can make her scream that loudly. And his hands wrap around her wrists as they kiss deeply and with tongue and lust, slides them across the soft comforters to rest above her head. And Peter’s hips buck again, liking the soft moan she gives.

Her eyes are closed as she grinds against him, his words definitely working on her, she feels, her stomach giving lurches and tightening and her underwear is growing damper...

And then he starts saying, “I’ll bite and suck harder than he ever could,” and “I bet I can make you cum before anyone comes in.” Michelle can smell the alcohol on his breath (but it’s not like she’s much better). And just as his mouth is trailing down her curved neck, across the mounds of her breasts, she heaves and uses his distraction to flip them over.

Peter gives a noise of surprise.

And then Michelle’s sitting on his stomach. She watches his muscles contract and loosen, her nails dipping into the indents and she scoots lower so her fingers can trail down to the top of his pants where she hooks her first two fingers. He’s hard beneath her, she can feel, and bites the side of her lip.

Leaning forward, she breaths in his his ear; she chides that she isn’t going to be having that tonight, and that _she’s_ the one calling the shots tonight.

Peter’s face, already possessing a slight glow from the alcohol and make out, scrunches up in confusion. He asks for more clarification.

Michelle’s only response is a devious smirk—and then she’s off him. Retrieving the suit from the floor, she makes a show of giving him a defined view of her ass.

She instructs him to hold the headboard. He smiles cheekily, doesn’t argue.

Peter catches the web shooters in her hands all too late—when she’s inexpertly shooting his hands down above his head. There’s a look of alarm that flashes across his face, looking between his hands and back to her as she adds five more layers over his hands.

Peter’s sputtering excuses, which are reasonable enough—that no one can know the web shooters are real; how are they going to get it off.

“You told me this stuff dissolves in two hours, right?” Her question is spoken far too normally, nonchalantly. Her hands work his belt loose, not looking away from his stare.

Peter swallows. “Yeah, but—”

He cuts off in a groan as Michelle rubs him through his jeans. When she’s had her fill, she undoes the rest of his fastenings and slides his pants lower.

“Then we have two hours.” Her hand slides beneath the band of his underwear and begins to work. “The door is locked.”

“MJ,” he sighs, quieted with a kiss.  
She’s pressing against him, both in their underwear.

The room pulses with the party music. Even outside the room, they can hear the conversing from downstairs, the loud drinking, and someone’s phone playing loud music who exists the bathroom.

“So, what are you feeling for tonight, babe?”

Peter’s voice is airy. “Something with a little bounce in it...”

Michelle slides her underwear off and coaxes him to accept them in his mouth before releasing him from his underwear, and she flicks her tongue, kisses, encircles, tastes, _teases_ him. And his eyes roll up as she finally takes him in her mouth.

Hours later after the party, the bed comforters will be found tossed in a hamper, and mysterious dried web residue on the headboard.


End file.
